


Young And Screwed Up

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Frank Iero - Fandom, Gerard Way - Fandom, MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, Pete Wentz - Fandom, frerard - Fandom
Genre: Anorexia, Bullying, High School, High School AU, Hospital, M/M, Self Harm, Therapy, anorexia tw, anxiety tw, bulimia tw, depression tw, mental illness tw, self harm tw, trigger warning, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is- used to be- anorexic, and Frank is a former self harmer with anxiety. As they grow closer, they begin to help each other and learn more about themselves than what therapy could ever teach them. But with their troubled pasts and naive, mangled personalities, can they ever have a normal relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I groggily climb out of bed and slump over to the mirror, gazing tiredly at myself. My pale skin reflects back blindingly, and my ebony hair is an unprecedented catastrophe, astray locks hanging in my sharp hazel eyes. I even further smudge the smears of the remnants of last night’s eyeliner, stumbling sleepily over to my closet. I dress myself in a heavy black sweatshirt and jeans even though it’s 72 degrees outside. I suppose I could wear a t shirt; after all, I’m going to adolescent group therapy for Christ’s sakes! I don’t think anyone would be visibly mortified by my many stretch marks and remarkably skeletal appearance like everyone else seems to be.  
A month ago, I was anorexic. That was my final month, even though I horribly limited my food intake for a total of five months. I had started way back in October because of how I was treated by others at school. After years of name calling and harassment, I’d started to believe everything they’d say about me. I stopped eating, only inhaling a scarce few scraps at lunch every other day or so. I didn’t want to die; I wanted to be skinny. I dropped weight dramatically. My goal went from losing ten pounds, to losing fifteen, to losing thirty. Just like that, I was a 5’5” 14 year old boy that weighed at 88 pounds. I had been anorexic through the winter months, and at school I would change in a bathroom stall for P.E., so nobody discovered I was anorexic until about a month and a half go (midway through February) my little brother Mikey decided to wake me up by yanking the bed comforter off of my sleeping body.  
And he screamed at what was hidden by the covers. I was sleeping in my boxers and sprawled out, collarbones jutting, ribcage prominent, and hip bones on full display.  
My mom ran up to my room at the sound of her youngest son screaming, only to see her oldest son slowly dying. After that, she wouldn’t speak to me. What she did was move us hundreds of miles away from our hometown so I could go to therapy for a birthday present. No, literally, she put a bow on the clinic’s brochure and presented it to me on April 9, my birthday.  
But the thing is, I was better by then. I’ve gained 15 whole pounds! But nope, I have to go to group therapy because “It’ll make such a huge difference in your life!” and “Gee-bear, think of all the new friends you’ll make!” This is my mom’s encouraging way of saying my life currently sucks and I have no friends.   
I reluctantly get into the car, and as I drive towards the stupid session, a huge part of me wants to turn back and lock myself in my room.  
I arrive, and I’m so uptight over the whole therapy thing that my stomach is in knots. As I step out of the car, the glazing heat only adds to the pains. By the time I’m in the building, I’m rushing to the nearest bathroom.  
I barge into the first Men’s room I see, heading straight to the first stall. I fall to my knees and vomit into the toilet. After about two minutes of throwing up, I cough and wipe my mouth on my sleeve, standing and giving the toilet a flush. I turn around to see a boy about five feet away staring at me.  
He’s pretty short, at least three inches shorter than myself. He has dark hair like mine that curls upwards at the tips. This and his giant green eyes make him resemble a Chibi character. He’s about as precious as a Chibi, too. He’s wearing a blue cutoff tee, and all the way down his are scars. Faded white scars totally cover his arm, every one running horizontally. Carved into his shoulder is a scar that reads “ugly”.   
“Are you okay?” the boy asks, his voice soft and careful.   
I nod, wiping again at my mouth. “I’m okay, thanks.” I push past him, heading to find the counseling room.   
I find it within minutes, and with my godammned luck I’m the very first one there. Not even the therapist is there yet. I sit down heavily in a chair, and watch more kids file in slowly. The first person to walk in is a boy with black hair and brown puppy eyes. He’s wearing an outfit from the hospital, so he must be staying here. Then there’s a girl with raven hair and brown eyes. She looks really sweet, and she sits down next to the boy. Then, believe it or not, the boy from the bathroom walks in. He sees me, stops, and then hesitantly sits down next to me since it’s the only open seat.   
The therapist enters with a bright fake smile and sits down in between the boy from the bathroom and the girl. “Hello!”  
Everyone is quiet until the therapist, I think her name is Mrs. Curt, eggs us on with a flap of her hand.  
“Hello, Mrs. Curt,” everyone replies in robotic monotone.  
“Let’s introduce ourselves, say why we are here, and tell everyone how we’re doing today, okay?” Mrs. Curt orders. She motions at the boy from the bathroom. “Let’s start with you.”  
The boy looks around nervously before standing, and he wrings his hands as he says, “My name is Frank. I had depression and have anxiety. I’m doing fine.”  
“Now let’s say hello to Frank,” Mrs. Curt suggests.  
“Hello, Frank,” everyone says in the exact same monotone pitch.   
Frank sits down, his face red from embarrassment.   
Mrs. Curt nods at me, so I stand.   
“My name is Gerard. I was anorexic,” I tell, emphasizing the fact that I used to be, and am currently not. “I’m okay.”  
We go around the circle. No one’s too eager to share, and probably at least three of us lie when we say we’re fine, including Frank and I. The girl’s name is Jamia, and she’s here because she’s fighting blood cancer (she’s going into chemo this week, so at our next meeting she’ll be bald) and the other boy is named Pete and a couple of days ago he tried to hang himself. I think I recognize him from my huge new school, he’s really quiet and gets very anxious whenever he has to speak in front of the class. Personally, I love hearing myself talk, so presentations and aloud reading is a breeze for me.   
“We’re going to do a trust exercise! It seems we have an even amount of people, so partner up,” Mrs. Curt instructs.  
Frank looks at me expectantly, and a big part of me bets that he’s too shy to start the conversation. So I save the little guy some trouble and ask,  
“Do you want to be my partner?”  
Frank smiles and replies all too quickly, “Yes, please.” I can’t help but grin back because his over enthusiasm is just too endearing.  
Frank stands in front of me, arms crossed across his chest and his eyes shut.   
“Okay, now fall,” I order.  
“I can’t,” Frank answers. “I know that you’ll catch me, I really do! But I’m too scared.”  
I lean into his ear and whisper, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”  
He then falls, and I make sure to catch him before he’s anywhere close to the floor.   
I’m leaving, when Frank trots up to me, handing me a scrap of paper. I unravel it, and he bounces on his heels anxiously as he watches me read it.  
“Call me! 393-884-0069- Frank Iero”  
I look up at him. “You want to be friends?” I’m not asking to be mean or negative, it’s just that I honestly don’t know if he wants to date me or if he just has a weird… I mean unique… way of making friends.  
He nods, his hair swishing in and out of his eyes. He then stands on his tippy toes and squeezes me. He releases me and returns to his normal short height, waving as he walks away.  
I get home, and for a long time I lay on my bed staring at Frank’s number. I decide I’ll call him tomorrow, and when my mom asks in that know-it-all tone of hers,  
“Did you make any friends?”  
I lie and say no just to spite her.


	2. Killed My Hopes, Called Me Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard must protect Frank when he is being bullied.

I see Frank in my art class the next day, and I can’t believe I’d never seen him in there before. I’m taking advanced drawing, so he must be at least a sophomore. He sits next to me, and as he tosses his backpack onto the table, I ask,  
“What grade are you in?”  
“Well…” Frank begins. “I should be a freshman, but I skipped a grade in kindergarten. So I’m a sophomore even though I turn 15 on Halloween.”  
HE’S NOT EVEN FIFTEEN YET? “You’re only fourteen!?”  
Frank giggles. “I know, I’m a little older than I look. I’m told it’s my smile.”  
I can’t help but feel like a little bit of a pedophile as I grin back. Oh my God, he’s Mikey’s age. I decide to just ignore it though, because it’s not like I’m actually dating him; we’re just friends. Even if he is super cute...  
At lunch break, I sit next to Frank. I leave with the rest of the juniors to get my food, and when I return, about four bigger boys are huddled around Frank.  
I hurry to my seat, already knowing what’s going on. Obviously, Frank’s being bullied. As I walk over, I catch,  
“Did you go home and cut yourself yesterday, Iero? Can we see?”   
“Shut up!” Frank squeaks. He looks from boy to boy nervously.   
“Are you gonna stand up for yourself, freak?” one demands. He kicks Frank in the back, ramming his ribcage into the table and causing his to groan. “Or are you just going to be a little bitch, like always?”  
“I can be a bitch,” I cut in. “But not the type you’re talking about.”  
“Gerard, please stay out of this,” Frank begs. I can tell by the look in his eyes that the last thing he wants is for me to get hurt by one of the goons bothering him.  
“‘Gerard, please stay out of this,’” one of them mimics in a high voice.   
I frown because they’re being so mean to Frank. I can’t see why anyone would hate him. I mean sure, he’s a little eccentric, and a touch awkward, but he’s perfectly nice. I’d go as far to say that he’s a sweet heart.   
“Are you two ass buddies?” a boy questions.  
“I’m betting that Frankie here is the one getting your tiny cock shoved up his ass every night,” another sneers. “And a big part of me is positive that the little faggot loves it.”  
Frank turns bright scarlet and shoves the boy. “Shut up, you asshole!”’ ‘  
The boy’s expression turns cold as he says, “Wrong move, Iero.”  
He grabs the tail of Frank’s shirt, pulling it over his head. He punches Frank in his bare gut and pulls him off of his chair, bringing him to the floor. He begins to kick Frank, and I launch myself at him.   
I scratch and bite and slap for all I’m worth, and I even dump out my tray and smack him in the face with the back of it. After that, his friends are pulling me off. Two of them hold my arms behind my back and a third punches me in the gut as their friend lay on the floor, moaning in pain.   
“Gerard!” Frank cries. He headbutts the boy punching me in the stomach, bringing the much larger person easily to the floor.  
Frank headbutts the boy in the face, and then punches him in the jaw. He gets up, prying me from the other’s grasps.   
The boys stand there in shock, looking at their two wounded friends, who lay on the ground limply.  
“Y-you freaks are dead!” one of them assures. They help up their friends and they all leave, shooting dirty looks at us over their shoulders.  
“Well, that sounds like it’s going to catch up to us,” I inform.  
Frank laughs. “Yeah, but who gives a fuck?” He looks at me, and his eyes are light up as he says, “Thanks for helping me, Gerard. No one’s ever done that before.”  
No one? By now I’ve pieced together something that anyone could’ve figured out much earlier; Frank has no friends.   
“You’re welcome,” I reply, but I feel like garbage. It’s obviously not my fault no one likes Frank, but I can’t help but feel responsible.  
I feel so bad that I invite Frank to my house after school. We sit on my bed, and he gets up and stands next to my CD cabinet. He holds out a hand towards it and asks,  
“May I?”  
I chuckle and nod, and Frank gets on his knees and begins sorting through all of the music. He finally pulls one out, and when he puts it on I realize that it’s Dookie by Green Day. He sits back next to me, and questions bluntly,  
“Gerard, are you gay?”  
I jump in surprise. I figure there’s no point in lying to my own friend, so I respond, “Yeah. Are you?”  
Frank nods without looking at me. He then scooches closer towards me and places his hand on my upper thigh, giving it a squeeze. He locks eyes with me before kissing me, softly rubbing his tongue against the back of my throat.  
I grip the small of his back and push him closer, until he is sitting on my lap. He straddles me and faces me, swinging his arms around my neck and sucking on my collarbone. I shudder and peck the top of his forehead, before finally pulling him off of me.  
Frank looks at me, hurt. “What’s the matter? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  
“No, don’t worry about that. It’s just… can we start slow?” I ask. I’ve never been in a relationship before, and I’m so not ready for anything sexual. I was afraid that maybe the kissing would lead to touching, which would in turn result in sex.  
Frank nods and takes my hands in his, stroking my thumb with his. “That’s fine. Whatever you want.”  
He then throws himself at me, tackling me in a hug. I laugh and hug him back, smelling his sweet perfume, which I suspect is a girls’.   
“Are you wearing girls’ perfume?” I question.  
Frank goes crimson and replies, “It’s my shampoo, actually. Jasmine is good for your hair, you know.”  
I giggle and kiss him. “You’re so adorable.”  
I drop him off at his house, suggesting,  
“Hey, maybe I could go to your house sometime.”  
“That’s… not a great idea,” Frank replies.   
“But why-”  
Frank doesn’t answer, just kisses my cheek and hurries into his house. I sit in my car for a moment, wondering why he wouldn’t allow me into his home. I dismiss it as nothing, and drive off to my house.   
That night I dream of Frank. In the dream, he’s on top of me, naked, and he’s kissing my stomach. With a mischievous raised eyebrow, he sinks below my crotch and licks the tip, then taking it whole in his mouth. I wake up in a hot sweat, my sheets tangled and clinging to my sweaty limbs. Not only that, but there’s a tent where my dick is and my underwear is wet. I feel like the biggest pervert in the world as I quickly masturbate, even moaning out Frank’s name as I cum. I clean up the mess, wanting to forget about the whole thing. Maybe I am ready for sex. I certainly want it. I reconsider the issue as I drift off to sleep, only to dream of Frank yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! New chapter should be up tonight or tomorrow! Please comment, and check out my other fics!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr- www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com


	3. The Only Friend That Makes You Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard and Frank reveal themselves to each other.

I pull Frank into my room after school, simply saying,  
“I have something to show you!”  
I sit Frank down on my bed, and I stand in front of him, dropping my school bag and kicking out of my shoes. I slowly lift off my shirt, letting it fall. I then unbutton my jeans and slither out of them as well. I look at Frank, who is staring at me, his mouth agape. I gaze down at my horribly disfigured body, bony chest, hips and, well, everything. I stand there in my red plaid boxers, apologizing, “I know I’m gross looking. I just thought you should know.”  
Frank shakes his head, closes his mouth and starts towards me. He pins me up against the wall and sucks the center of my chest, grazing his teeth lightly against the skin. I place one hand on his shoulder and another around his neck and throw my head back, granting him full access to my neck.  
Frank stops, looks me in the eye and assures, “You’re fucking gorgeous. In every sense of the word.”  
So I make out with Frank, hip bones jamming into him and all. Eventually, Frank pulls my boxers down, and he gets on his knees, running his hands down the sides of my body as he does so. He kneels in front of me, and headbutts my cock playfully. He then grabs a hold of the base and shoves it into his mouth, deep throating me.  
“Fuck… Frankie,” I whine. I grind my hips as Frank does what he apparently does best, blowjobs.  
I cry out his name as I come, and Frank obediently swallows. He rises, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.   
I suddenly feel very exposed; completely naked with the fully clothed Frank. I blush and reach for my boxers, but Frank grabs my hand and says,   
“Don’t. I have something to show you, too.”  
With that, Frank pulls off his shirt, tossing it across the room, and then steps out of his pants. He kicks off his briefs, and they fly across the room. He smiles at me and rubs his arm covered with scars self-consciously.   
I grab his arm and turn it over in wrist. It’s my hands, finding the largest scar on the underside of his wrist. It’s a thick pink one, with an indent so large that I could easily stick my thumbnail inside. I look up at Frank as I bend over and kiss the scar as softly as I can.   
I look up, and a tear is running down Frank’s face. “What’s the matter?”  
Frank shakes his head as more tears fall, and he rubs his eyes with his fists. “I’m so sorry, Gee.”  
I hug him and help him onto the bed, where I cradle him in my arms as he cries.   
“I’m such a fuck up!” Frank wails.  
“Hey, no you’re not,” I comfort. I kiss the top of his head and rub his back as I add, “Frankie, you’re perfect and I wish that you could see it too.”  
I stroke his arm softly, tracing one of his scars with my nail lightly.   
“Do you know what these scars mean?” I ask.  
“That I’m a giant waste of space,” Frank sobs.   
“No, not even close,” I answer softly. “They mean that you’ve been through a lot of shit, and to be through all of that… I’d say you must be pretty strong.”  
Frank tackles me in a hug, and he squeezes me so tight that I feel like my eyeballs may bulge out of my head. I don’t care though, I’m just glad that he feels better.   
“G-Gerard?” Frank begins shakily.  
“Yes?” I whisper.  
“I love you,” Frank replies. He looks up at me, his scarlet eyes swollen with crying, his nose runny and his hair a mess. He looks beautiful.   
I grin at him, and that gets Frank to finally smile. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that was such a short chapter. the next one should be long, and we finally figure out what's up with Frank's family!   
> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment! If you like this story, check out my other fics!!


	4. Save Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard finds out just what is going on in the Iero home.

I sit next to Frank in art class the next day. We’re currently drawing a portrait of someone we look up to. I’ve never seen Frank’s, so I glance over at his paper curiously. My heart stops in my chest.  
I tentatively touch the drawing, asking quietly, “You’re… you’re drawing me?”  
“Shit!” Frank curses. He throws his body over the picture, explaining, “You weren’t supposed to see it until it was done.”  
I take Frank’s hand in mine and give it a squeeze, comforting, “I love it, Frankie.”  
Frank grins. “Your tiny upturned nose is adorable and all, but it was a bitch to draw.”  
I laugh, joking, “Sorry. You know, I told my chromosomes to give me that exact nose specifically so you’d have a hard time drawing it.”  
“I knew it!” Frank replies, shoving me playfully.   
After school that day, I drive to Frank’s house with him. We sit in the car for a few moments in comfortable silence, when Frank bears this devilish grin and suggests,  
“Wanna fuck?”   
We go into Frank’s basement, stripping off our clothing despite the chilliness of the room.  
Frank throws me onto the couch, aggressively tossing his tongue inside of my mouth. He rams it down the back of my throat, and I resist gagging because it feels amazing.  
Frank reaches over to the edge of the couch, grabbing his jeans. For a brief moment I’m disappointed because I believe that he is getting dressed. But when he pulls a small bottle out of his back pocket, I lip my lips excitedly, knowing exactly what it is.  
Frank squirts the lube into his hand and pets his cock a few times to spread it around. He scoots up to me, asking,  
“Do you want to do it on your back?”  
I nod, adding sultrily, “I wanna see everything you do to me.”  
Frank blushes and lines his hips up with my thighs. He slowly enters, and it’s a tight, painful fit. I cry out a little, my body burning and my ass feeling as though it is about to split. At the same time, it feels incredible.   
“Frank!” I scream, as Frank pulls out and rams back in. He does this a few times. He grabs around my cock, thrusting it forcefully as he enters me yet again. I cum, shouting his name, and he continues fucking me so I can get the most out of my orgasm.  
“Fuck, I’m so close,” he pants. “You’re so tight, Gee.” With that, he throws his head back and lets out a low moan as he comes.   
He slowly pulls out of me, and he slaps my bare ass before rolling over, using his underwear to clean up the mess before pulling them on.  
“Ew!” I protest.   
“What?” Frank asks, nuzzling up against me.   
“You just used those to clean up cum!” I remind.  
“Oh,” Frank replies apathetically, his expression blank.  
I can’t stop my chuckle as I snuggle up into his chest. I feel around on the ground, locating my underwear and slipping back into them. Frank lies on top of me and sighs contently. I can feel him breathing, his chest digging slightly into mine with each inhale.  
We hear a clumping down the steps, and the next thing I know, Frank’s father is in the doorway of the room, staring at us angrily. Frank squeals and springs over me off of the couch, pulling on his jeans. I sit up, defensively wrapping the blanket around my waist. I feel sick to my stomach as I watch Frank’s dad approach us, so furious that a vein in his temple is popping out.   
“Frank Anthony!” his father roars. He grips his son by the shoulders before shoving him forcefully onto the ground. “We’ve talked about this!”  
“I’m sorry!” Frank apologizes. He retruns to his feet, only to be knocked down again by his father.  
“You’re lying, you little shit!” his father demands. “You’re a disgrace to your family!”  
Frank starts to sob. “I’m not lying!” he insists.   
Frank’s… sorry for being with me? No, he’s just lying to his dad.   
“You’re not getting away with this insolence this time, you brat!” his father yells. With that, he punches his own son in the mouth.   
Frank stares up at his father, his hazel eyes watery, and his mouth slightly open in shock. He softly touches at where his father struck him.  
Frank begins to rise to his feet, but his father harshly kicks him in the ribcage with his wing tipped shoe, leaving behind a small cut and bringing Frank back to the floor. Frank cries out in pain, and I decide to stand up for my boyfriend.  
“You can’t treat him like that!” I argue.   
Frank’s father looks at me lividly, his olive eyes identical to Frank’s, except now burning with anger.  
“Gerard, please get out!” Frank sobs.  
His father glares down at his son and kicks him in the same spot. Frank again yelps in pain.  
“Frank!” I exclaim, reaching out a hand for him.  
“Just go!” Frank insists.  
I exit, the blanket loosely hanging off of my shoulders. As I leave Frank’s, I can hear his wounded cries echoing throughout the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! Please comment!!! If you like this story, check out my other fics!
> 
> My Tumblr- www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com


	5. I'll Never Let Them hurt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard visits Frank at the hospital where he is recovering from his dad's infliction.

I enter the art room the next day, ready to talk to Frank. When the bell rings and he’s not there, my stomach twists worriedly. I hurry over to the teacher, asking,  
“Do you know why Frank isn’t here today?”  
“Oh, the poor thing is in the hospital,” the teacher answers.  
“What?!” I exclaim. Oh God, will he be okay?  
“He got mugged and attacked on his way home from school. Don’t worry, I know you two are friends. He’s rough now, but he’ll get better,” the teacher assures.  
I rush back to my seat, negative thoughts racing hotly through my head. It was my fault. I should’ve stayed and stopped his dad. And now Frank’s in the hospital. It’s all my fault…  
I throw up on the floor, and the teacher wraps an arm around my waist and hands me a trashcan as she hauls me out into the hall. I sink to my knees and vomit into the trash, my entire body trembling. Shit, when did I start crying? My throat closes up, and my chest heaves as I try to breathe.   
“Gerard, you’re hyperventilating,” the teacher warns.   
I clutch onto my chest as it throbs painfully.   
“I’m going to take you to the nurse, you’re having a panic attack,” the teacher informs. She helps me to my feet, and I’m so lightheaded that I can hardly stand. She drags me to the nurses’ office, where the nurse calls my mom and to tell her that I’m basically a nervous wreck.   
I spend the next period in the nurses’ office until she thinks I’m well enough to go back to class. She recommends me to- I shit you not- the clinic that I go to for group therapy. Which reminds me, that’s tomorrow. I wonder if the psychiatrist that leads it will ask Frank about his face; if he can make it there. Hopefully he’s not that hurt.   
I drive to the hospital after school. I enter nervously, finding the nicest looking receptionist and asking politely,  
“Which room is Frank Iero in?”   
The receptionist types something and replies, “He’s on the second floor in room 204 sweet heart.”  
I thank her as I head up the stairs. I take a deep breath before going into Frank’s room. He’s lying in the bed, a hospital gown draping loosely over his scrawny shoulders.  
“Hey,” he breathes. He has stitches in his nose, his eye is purple and about the size of a baseball, and his entire face is swollen and covered in bruises.   
“I’m so sorry, Frankie,” I apologize. I sit next to him on his bed and take his hand in mine.   
Frank uses his free hand to pat mine and responds, “Don’t be. It’s my fault; I told you to leave. You were just listening to me.”  
“But a good boyfriend would’ve stayed anyways until they knew you were safe,” I reason, tears welling up in my eyes and clotting in the back of my throat.   
“Hey, shh,” Frank soothes. He holds me close to him, and I’m sure that my ribcage is poking into him through my thin shirt, and he either doesn’t feel it or doesn’t care. He pets my hair, running strands in between his fingers absently. “Don’t blame this on yourself.”  
I break apart the hug and smile at Frank. He grins kind of sadly at me and wipes away my tears with his fingertips.  
“You can’t stay with your dad,” I demand.  
“I swear, he’s never hit me like that before,” Frank excuses.  
“Frankie, just the fact that he’d ever lay a finger on you is enough of an excuse to leave,” I reply.   
“He promised he’d never do it again,” Frank insists.  
“You can’t believe him. He’s trash, Frank,” I answer.  
Frank hangs his head and mutters, “I know, I know. But tell me, if I leave, where can I go?”  
“You can stay with me,” I offer. “I’m sure my mom would understand.”  
Frank looks at me gratefully, saying, “Thank you so much, Gee.” He hugs me the tightest I’ve ever been hugged and whispers, “I’ve been wanting to leave that Hell hole for years.”


	6. When You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets the courage to leave his home.

At counseling two days later, our therapist immediately asks Frank,  
“What happened to your face, hon?”  
“Um I g-g-got mugged,” Frank stammers. He runs his hands nervously up and down his legs as he lies to her face.  
“That’s not what I heard,” Pete mutters.  
“And what did you hear?” Frank challenges. Even I can tell that he’s becoming angry, and I’ve never seen Frank mad in my life.  
“I heard your dad kicked your ass and he gave you that lame cover story,” Pete retorts.   
Frank flings himself at Pete, taking him to the floor. I pull Frank off with ease before he can do any damage to Pete, who sits himself back up and flips his hair with a scoff.   
“Thank you, Gerard,” Mrs. Curt says. “Frank, violence will not be tolerated.”  
“But didn’t you hear what Pete said?!” Frank excuses. I agree with him; Pete was so far over the line.   
“Pete is expressing himself in a healthy way; through words. You are expressing yourself through violence. That is unhealthy, Frank,” Mrs. Curt barks.   
Frank flips off Pete as soon as Mrs. Curt isn’t looking, and I do the little guy a favor and give Pete my finger as well.   
Mrs. Curt tells us about how we’re going to stay in the hospital for two weeks in the mental health clinic to receive counseling every day and “be opened up to life’s many wonderful experiences”. I hate group therapy, so I’m not particularly excited. I don’t think anyone is, except maybe Jamia, who is pumped that her hair gets to grow in a little before she returns to school. We’re doing it next month, during winter break.   
I drive Frank home from therapy, so we can stop at his house. He’s going to gather his things so he can live with me. I walk inside with him and sit on his bed, watching him empty his drawers into a duffel bag. It fills, and he grabs another and gets every shirt and hoodie from his closet. He packs his CDs, movies, video games and books into crates, and we load them all up into my car. Lastly, he puts his beloved laptop in its special carrying case and zips it up, slinging it over his shoulder.   
Frank hangs in the doorway, one foot out. He’s looking back at his home, with a scared look on his face. He turns to me and gives me an unsure look.  
“Should you leave a note?” I ask. I add, “Just so your parents know you’re safe.”  
“My mom’s dead,” Frank declares. He walks into the kitchen, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. He writes, in his boyish chicken scrawl,  
“Dear Dad,  
Don’t worry. I’m safe. I’m staying with a friend. I won’t say who, because I don’t want you coming after me. I’m not doing this because I’m angry. I’m doing this because I’m tired. I love you, but I don’t love the things you do to me. I’ll be ignoring your phone calls, and I’ll delete every single message you leave without listening to it. Don’t bother writing, because it’ll end up being burnt. I love him, dad. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Maybe, someday, I’ll find it in myself to give you another chance.  
Take care of yourself,  
Frank.  
Frank’s tears drip onto the letter, and he looks at me, choking out,  
“Let’s go.” He wipes his face and rushes out to the car, sitting quietly the entire ride.   
That night in my room, I lay next to Frank, who’s drifting off to sleep.  
“Frank?” I start.  
“Yeah?” Frank mumbles. He rolls over to look at me, blinking sleepily.  
“Y-you’re never talking to your dad again?” I question. A tear falls out of my eye, and I try to brush it off before Frank can tell.  
Too bad, because Frank sees it. “Oh, Gerard.”  
He hugs me, whispering into my ear, “Don’t worry about it. I just need my time. I’ll visit him in a month or so.”  
I believe him, but I can’t stop my sobbing. I’m happy he got away from an abusive home; I am, but it’s just…  
Frank breaks apart the hug and holds my head in his hands, dabbing away my tears with his thumb. He smiles at me kind of sadly, and his own eyes well up and leak.  
“I promise I will. Okay?”  
I nod, and Frank lays me down, leaning over me to kiss me on the forehead. He stares at me a minute, his expression unreadable, before he says,  
“I love you, Gerard.”  
I swallow and look into his eyes. God, he’s gorgeous. “I love you too. Please don’t leave me.”  
Frank’s eyebrows furrow, and his forehead creases with concern. He kisses my hand and pats it, comforting, “I-I won’t. Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad chapter, I know. New one should be up soon! Please comment, and if you like this then try some of my other stories!
> 
> My Tumblr- www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com


	7. Wait For A Hospital Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Gerard begin their boarding counseling with a new therapist.

Frank and I drive up to the clinic, two duffel bags thrown in the back of my car.  
“Can you believe this fucking this is already happening?” Frank asks.  
I shake my head. “I’m just worried about the makeup work from school.”  
Frank shrugs and looks out the window. “Meh. At least we can help each other out.”  
“Frank, this is important. Can you do Geometry?” I question.  
Frank scoffs. “Pft, I got an A in that class freshman year. You’re taking it as a senior?”  
I blush and shove him, defending, “Shut up!”  
Frank giggles and jokes, “It’s a good thing you’re hot, Gee, cause you’re a dumbass.”  
“Fuck you!” I laugh. “I’m really good at science, though. Math just doesn’t sit well with Gerard, okay?”  
Frank holds up his hands. “Fine, fine.”  
We get out of the car and slump through the halls. I find the nicest receptionist I can see and ask,  
“We’re here for the boarding adolescent group therapy? Do you know which room we’re supposed to go to?”  
The lady flips through some papers before answering, “Names please?”  
“Gerard Way and Frank Iero,” Frank cuts in.  
“Okay. You two are in room 208, and your first counseling session is an hour from now in room 205,” she informs.  
“Thanks,” I call as we head up the steps to the second floor.  
Frank pants as we go up the short flight of steps.  
I stop and stare at the kid in shock and amusement. “Jesus, you’re out of shape.”  
Frank glares at me. “It’s fucking 9:00 on a Saturday. Cut me some slack.”  
I bend down in front of him, instructing, “Hop on.”  
Frank does as he’s told, and I carry him up the last five or so steps and down the hall to our room.  
Frank throws our duffel bags in one corner and flops down on one of the beds. He rolls over onto his stomach, and his voice is muffled into the pillow as he moans,  
“Oh yeah, baby. This bed is mine.”  
I smirk, “Is it cozy?”  
Frank snuggles into the pillow further before replying, “Sweet Jesus, yes!”  
I sit next to him and pat him on the butt, admonishing, “It’s best you don’t go to sleep. Therapy’s in like 40 minutes.”  
Frank grumbles, “But I’m tired now.”  
“Your fault for staying up late last night,” I mutter.  
Frank lifts his head to tilt it from side to side in emphasis. “If it’s a Friday, I’m gonna stay up. I don’t got that opportunity all week, you feel me?”  
I shake my head, laughing. “Okay, Frankie, whatever you say.”  
Frank moans and pulls his blanket up over himself. I slowly remove my shoes and slip underneath the covers next to him. He whines happily and throws his arms around my chest, pulling me in closer so he can peck me on the neck. He rests his head against my neck and sighs contently.  
We cuddle in silence until it’s time to go to therapy. When we get there, it’s not Mrs. Curt. It’s some guy with black hair and crazy forest green eyes. He’s pretty damn cute, and he’s dressed in a black short sleeved dress shirt and a red tie, with slacks and red Converses.  
“Hey, guys!” he greets, once he’s sure everyone’s there. “I’m Mr. Armstrong. Unfortunately, Mrs. Curt felt she wasn’t vibing with you guys, so you got sent over to me. If everyone in the room could introduce themselves, what grade they’re in, and one fact about themselves, just so I can get to know you. I have a lot of faces to learn.”  
I can already tell I’ll like Mr. Armstrong a lot more than I liked Mrs. Curt.  
We have a lot more kids in this therapy than in the last one, probably about fifteen rather than four. I don’t know why, maybe they combined classes? When it goes to Frank, he stands up, running his hands anxiously up and down his thighs as he says,  
“I’m Frank. I’m a sophomore. I like sleeping.”  
Mr. Armstrong laughs and agrees, “I do too, Frank.”  
I rise, reciting, “My name’s Gerard. I’m a senior. I’m here for post treatment, I no longer have my disorder.”  
I begin to sit down when Mr. Armstrong asks, “What disorder did you have, Gerard?”  
“Anorexia,” I answer.  
Mr. Armstrong shakes his head. “I’m glad you got over that, good for you.”  
At the end of the session, I decide that I like Mr. Armstrong so much that I want a private session with him. I head up to him, asking,  
“M-Mr. Armstrong?”  
He turns around and smiles at me, questioning, “What is it?”  
“Um, do you think that you and I could have a private session?”  
Frank walks up with a what-the-Hell-are-you-doing look on his face. At that moment, I decide to add,  
“With Frank here? He’s my boyfriend.”  
Frank blushes and hits me, but Mr. Armstrong just smiles and nods, complimenting,  
“I think you two are a very cute couple.”  
He looks at the clock, down at some papers on his clipboard, and then back to the clock. “Tell you what, meet me here in three hours, okay? If you can’t count, that’s at 2:00.”  
I laugh and reply, “Alright, thanks Mr. Armstrong.”  
He nods and leaves the room, waving his small but as he walks.  
“He’s cute,” Frank whispers.  
I nod in agreement, watching him leave. “I know, right?”  
We go to the therapy, and Mr. Armstrong starts right away with,  
“Gerard, you have low self-esteem, don’t you?”  
I reel back in surprise, quietly answering, “Yeah.”  
He turns to Frank. “And you hate yourself.”  
Frank tears up a little and nods. I look at Frank in horror, simply not believing that someone as amazing as him wouldn’t be able to see it for themselves.  
“How do you know?” I demand.  
He shrugs. “Your disorders, your behavior, the way you carry yourselves, even. There’s a lot more to psychology than most people think.” He leans forward, placing his hands in his lap and looking softly at Frank. “Frank, who gave you those bruises?”  
Frank touches lightly at his eye, which is still protruding and purple. “My- my dad.” He’s crying now, silently, and allowing tears to stream down his face, curving at different bones.  
“Why do you think your dad did that to you?” Mr. Armstrong continues.  
“Because he’s ashamed,” Frank whispers, and another tear falls off of his face, punctuating his sentence with melancholy.  
“Ashamed of what?” Mr. Armstrong urges.  
Frank starts bawling, and admits, “That I’m gay! I’m a flaming homosexual, and he hates it!”  
I pat him on the back, looking at Mr. Armstrong like What-the-fuck-did-you-do-you-broke-Frank. Mr. Armstrong looks steadily at me, silently assuring me that there’s a reason he’s said everything.  
“Frank, I want you to know that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water from the womb,” Mr. Armstrong comforts. “The friends we choose often become more important than the abusive family we’re sometimes born with. You don’t need to please your dad, if he’s not man enough to handle his own son, he doesn’t deserve you.”  
Frank nods and wipes his nose on his sleeve, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.  
Mr. Armstrong grins. “I think we’re done for today.” He points at me, warning, “Gerard, we’ll be working on you next time, so bring your A game.”  
We get back to the room, and Frank rolls himself up in his bed. I leave my own bed, abandoning it to cuddle next to Frank.  
“You hate yourself?” I whisper, still unable to believe something so ludicrous.  
Frank’s quiet for a very long time. Finally, in a very small, childish sounding voice, he replies, “Only sometimes.”  
I take his hand in mine and turn it over, kissing one of the scars running across his wrist. I hold his hand against my chest, falling asleep with my heartbeat thudding steadily against his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Green Day!
> 
> New chapter should be up soon! Probs tomorrow! Please comment!!!!! If you like this story, try some of my others
> 
>  
> 
> FANART WOULD BE AMAZING SO BRING YOUR BEST: www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com


	8. Somewhat Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard opens up about his anorexia.

Mr. Armstrong lets us call him Billie now! So anyways, Billie is a busy man, so we don’t have a private session with him for about a week. We’re not too broken up about it though; Frank isn’t because we still see him for group every day. I’m not because I’m not exactly excited for him to dissect my feelings in front of my boyfriend, leaving me vulnerable.   
Group therapy’s going alright. Today, Billie asks me,  
“Gerard, are you happy?”  
I’m shocked by this question, since it’s out of the blue. “Um, I’m okay.”  
Billie grins. “I can see that you’re okay, Gerard. But are you happy?”   
I cross my arms as I retort, “I can’t see the difference.”  
Billie leans back in his chair and crosses his arms as well, the smile on his face growing wider. “You are quite the technical type, aren’t you son? A real see-it-believe-it kind of guy.”  
“W-well yeah, I guess so,” I stammer, a little ruffled by his confidence.  
“You see, there’s living, and being alive. If you are alive, you’re just making your way through your days, neither loving it or hating it. Now if you’re living, you’re laughing, you’re drawing… you’re-”  
“In love,” Frank cuts in. He grips my hand and grins at Billie. “You’re in love.”  
“Yeah. I’m living,” I agree.  
Billie smiles, concluding, “That’s all for today. Good job, all of you.” He motions at Frank, so we both walk over, hands still intertwined.   
“You two can actually visit me at 3:00 today,” Billie informs as he flips through some papers.   
“What happened?” Frank asks. “Why’s it open all of the sudden?”  
“A patient of mine, a boy named Patrick… he died. He killed himself,” Billie explains. Tears begin to well up in his eyes, and he pushes past us, saying, “Excuse me.”  
Frank looks at me worriedly, then back at Billie. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”  
“He’s a big boy, Frank,” I remind.  
“I-I know but…” Frank looks up at me. “He’s so sensitive.”  
I bite my lip, deciding, “We’ll ask him about it during therapy, if you’re that worried.”  
“No no, it’s fine,” Frank dismisses. He starts back towards our room, so I follow him.  
He sits on his bed, then swinging his upper body over it. He searches under his bed, eventually pulling out a crate.   
“What’s in there?” I question curiously, peeking over my own bed for a closer look.  
Frank rips open a pack of Twizzlers and whips one at me, shoving another into his mouth. “Candy!”  
I giggle, finding the Twizzler he launched at me. I twist it in my fingers, contemplating if I really want to eat it. Deciding whether I want to gain weight. I pop it into my mouth reluctantly, chewing it slowly. “You’re such a child, Frankie.”  
Frank shrugs, ripping open a FunDip packet and emptying it into his mouth.   
“I thought it’d be something cool,” I mutter disappointedly.  
“Well, I do have something cool,” Frank responds.  
“Really?” I ask, walking over to Frank’s bed and sitting down next to him.   
He nods, and pulls out an album from under his pillow. He hands it to me, and dumps more powder into his mouth.   
I open it, to see a baby with black hair and olive eyes on the first page. I grin, pointing at the infant, saying, “This is you?”  
“Yep,” Frank answers, chewing the FunDip stick noisily.   
I flip through it, and I end up finding a picture where Frank is naked sitting next to a dog.   
“Aww, Frank,” I gush.   
“What?” Frank asks. He looks over at the picture, and reddens, shutting the photo album and taking it. He sits on it, smiling at me sheepishly.   
“Frankie you were so cute!” I tease, trying to take the album back.   
Frank blushes even harder, and doesn’t reply. I finally get the album back, and a picture falls out. I take it in my hands, to see that it is a picture of Frank on a carousel with his father. On the front it says “Daddy” in red crayon; in a handwriting so inexcusably messy that he must have wrote it as a child.  
“Do you miss him?” I whisper.  
Frank stares at the picture for almost a solid minute before nodding, answering in a small voice, “Yeah.”  
I wrap an arm around him, pulling him close to me. He leans his head on my shoulder, shutting his eyes.   
We go to group therapy, and Billie automatically begins with,  
“Gerard, were you bullied as a child?”  
“Y-y-yeah,” I stutter nervously.   
Billie nods, folding his hands in his laps as he assumes, “They called you fat, didn’t they?”  
Frank places a hand on the small of my back, and it gives me the strength to admit, “Yes. All the time.”  
“And you just wanted to shed some pounds, just to get them to stop,” Billie continues.   
“Yeah,” I choke out, the first tear finding its way down my face. “And then I ended up losing about fifty pounds.”  
Billie nods, and comforts, “Gerard, you didn’t need to do that. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. It’s about loving yourself. When you do that, when you just find a way to accept what you are, then the body confidence will come in toe.”  
“Okay,” I cry, my voice tight.   
Billie smiles and gets up, patting me on the back. He strings some fingers through my hair, saying,  
“I think we’re done for today. I’m so proud of both of you.”   
With that he leaves, his dress shoes clacking down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and if you like this story, try my other fics!!
> 
> Fanart is so welcome!  
> If you'd like to do a podfic for me, just talk to me
> 
> Contact me here: www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com/ask


	9. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys meet their last day of boarding group counseling.

On our last day of therapy, Billie has us stand up and say one thing we learnt.  
When it comes to Frank, he stands up and says,  
“Billie Joe Armstrong is one rad fucker, and I’m glad I’m continuing therapy with him.”  
The group chuckles, and Billie laughs along, responding,  
“Usually I wouldn’t let you swear, but it’s the last day, so I’ll let it slide.”  
He looks at me, his forest eyes twinkling with anticipation. I stand, wiping my sweaty hands off on my pants.   
“I learnt,” I begin. I swallow, continuing, “I learnt that I’m the only one who controls my anorexia. It’s my fault, and it’s my responsibility to fix it.” I sit down, adding, “And I intend to. I want to gain fifteen more pounds.”  
Billie smiles at me, and his expression tells a thousand words. All he replies with is, “Good for you, Gerard,” but I know that if time allowed, he say so much more than those four words.   
Frank and I get home and run down the steps to my basement room, throwing our bags everywhere and flopping onto the bed on top of each other. We look at each other and laugh, and Frank nuzzles up against me, pulling a blanket over us.  
I smile and hug him back, kissing him on the forehead. He falls asleep in minutes, and I get out of the bed, not tired. I cocoon the blanket closely around him, and prop the pillow up under his head. I remove his shoes, placing them neatly by the door. I smile at his sleeping figure before I leave, going upstairs to work on Geometry.  
The next day at school, I see Frank getting hassled in the hallway. I hurry over, to see the boys from lunch that was… wow…. Over a month ago.   
Two of the boys are pinning Frank’s arm behind his back, and another is delivering blow after blow to Frank’s stomach, actually lifting him off of the ground with each powerful punch. The fourth boy stands idly by, glaring at Frank.  
I shove the boy who’s punching Frank, yelling, “Fuck off! Leave him alone!”  
The boy smirks. “Look, Frankie, your ass buddy is here to save you.”  
“Don’t call me Frankie,” Frank growls. He looks up, flipping his hair out of his eyes and nodding towards me. “Only he calls me that.”  
The boy clutches a hand mockingly to his heart, replying, “Aww, how sweet. I knew you were fuck friends. Tell me, Gerard, is Frank finally man enough to be the one shoving it in?”  
I can’t find a comeback, so the boy continues his rant turning to Frank and rolling up one of his sleeves.  
“Iero, did you cut yourself again? Why don’t you grow up and do it deep enough so you die?”  
I can’t remember what happens next. When I come to, the boy who had said the offending phrase is lying on the ground, scarlet blood rushing down his face, neck, and onto his shirt. He’s moaning in pain, and it appears that his nose is broken. Frank is looking at me, still restrained, in shock, his eyes watery.  
The two boys holding Frank release him, shoving him towards me. One of them utters,   
“Get the fuck out.”  
I take Frank’s hand and hurry away, practically sprinting down the steps.  
We stop at my locker, both of us panting heavily from the physical exertion.   
“Y-you did that for me?” Frank asks.  
“Well, yeah,” I respond. I know what happened now. I protected my boyfriend. “I’d do anything for you.”  
Frank throws his arms around me, crying softly into my shoulder. I pat his back, and hear him sob,  
“These are happy tears, Gerard. Happy tears.”  
That night, I lay in bed, Frank asleep next to me.   
“Gerard?”  
Oh shit! I jump about a foot in surprise. I guess he isn’t asleep. “Yeah?”  
“Thanks so much,” Frank says.  
“No problem,” I reply.  
“No really.” He turns in the dark and looks at me. “Thanks for everything.”  
I hug him, pulling him close so I can kiss him on the top of his head. We fall asleep with him tangled up in my arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment!! If you like this story, check out some of my others!
> 
> If you'd like to send fanart or ask to do a Podfic, contact me here: www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com


	10. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard's disorder worsens.

I wake up the next morning, and I feel awful. I shrug it off, not wanting it to spoil my date with Frank. I take my medications, and for some reason… they feel like they aren’t working anymore? I dismiss it, assuring myself that it’s just an off day. Everybody has off days. Besides I’m in love, I’m happy now.   
I drag myself through the halls at school, so drained of energy that I fall asleep in Geometry.  
“Mr. Way!” the teacher barks.   
I snap my head up so fast that I’m lucky I don’t get horrible whiplash. “Erm, yes?”  
“Could you please stay with us?” the teacher demands sharply.  
I blush as the kids laugh, and I swear that a kid next to me whispers,   
“Fatass can’t even stay awake.”  
I look down at my baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, the only things that keep me warm in the highly air conditioned school. The sweat pants are so loose that they have to be as tied as tight as they can just to keep them from slipping off of my hips. I’m… I’m not fat.  
When I bump into a kid later, I apologize,  
“Sorry.”  
“Watch it, plus size,” the boy snarls. Somehow, the whole hallway manages to hear, and they all erupt in laughter. I push through the crowd, tears rushing down my face, receiving a fair amount of shoves as I make my way to a bathroom. I lock myself in a stall and remove my clothing, leaving me in my Jack Skellington boxer briefs. I look down at myself, pinching the fat on my thighs. I’m… I’m so fat. I’m hideous.   
I begin bawling as I kneel over the toilet. I ram a few fingers down my throat, trying to get myself to throw up. I gag a whole bunch, and I think I’m about to throw up, but all that comes out are long streams of saliva. I shove my entire hand down there, and I throw up into the toilet bowl, and in that moment, I feel so much better. I flush the toilet, standing and wiping my mouth off on my arm. I redress myself, heading out into the hallways, not realizing that I have a whole new problem on my hands.   
That night, Frank and I go to watch the Ring at a drive in. Halfway through, Frank yawns and rolls over onto me, complaining,   
“This movie’s BORING.”   
I chuckle, and run my fingers through his inky hair. “Sorry, babe, but you’re the one that picked it.”  
Frank peeks out of the car windows, suggesting, “We could have sex.”  
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and my face heats up at the mere thought of having sex in the middle of a public lot. “Frankie! We can’t do that!”  
“Sure we can!” Frank responds. He grins slyly, and pulls off his shirt, letting it drop to the car floor.  
“Frank, stop it,” I order.   
He unbuttons his jeans, clutching onto his crotch with one hand as he removes them with the other. And dear God, he’s wearing girls’ underwear. Little orange briefs with frilled black trim. They’re covered in black skulls and music notes, and some of his dark pubic hairs peek over the top of the waistband.   
He slithers out of them as well, placing them in my lap. He drops his head back and strokes himself, moaning,  
“You know you want this.”  
I stare at Frank, actual drool building up in my mouth. But I fight my teenage hormones. “Frank, we can’t. Not here.”  
Frank pouts and lays down on me. He licks me, letting his tongue travel from my collarbone all the way up to my cheek. I shudder under the touch, and Frank smiles, knowing he’s winning the argument. He takes the tail of my shirt in his teeth, lifting it over my head. I help him remove the shirt, and he spits out the cloth, leaving it on the car’s seat.   
I abandon my jeans and then pull of my boxer briefs. Frank lays on top of me, and he bites my earlobe lightly before growling in my ear,   
“I want to be the one to take it this time.”  
I nod, and I kiss his neck as I reach for a bottle of lube. I grab a condom out of my glove box, really not wanting to wear it. We didn’t use one last time. But still, I’m so trained to behave well and use my brain and what not that I roll it on anyways. I put on A LOT of lube, remembering how young Frank is.   
Franks purrs as I grab his hipbones, getting behind him. I line my hips up with his and enter as slowly as I can. It’s an extremely tight fit, and I can’t go in all of the way without surely hurting him, so I don’t. I reach under his stomach and pet his crotch as I slide in and out of his ass ever so lightly.   
Frank moans as he reaches a hand back, gripping my forearm as he warns,   
“Gee, I’m… I’m gonna cum.”  
With that, he moans lowly as he cums. I continue fucking him, and I even stroke what I can of myself before cumming as well, screaming his name as I do so. I fall next to him, kissing his sweaty forehead and asking,   
“How was it?”  
Frank looks over at me and smiles. He plants a kiss on my lip and says, “Just perfect.”  
We lay in silence, watching the end of the movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and read my other fics! 
> 
> If you want to send fanart, ask to read a podfic for me, or just talk, contact me here: www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com/ask (You DON'T need an account to talk!)
> 
> THE FINAL CHAPTER will be up later tonight!


	11. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard is caught red handed.

I wake up the next morning, and I crawl out of my bed to the bathroom, leaving Frank snoring softly on the mattress. I stare at my naked body in the mirror, and although I can fully see my ribcage, all I can focus on is those damn fat thighs. I hunch over the toilet, grabbing my toothbrush and shoving it all the way down my throat.   
At that exact moment, Frank walks in, and he knows exactly what’s going on. He lifts me, dragging me away from the toilet and into the shower.   
He turns it on, and the spray drenches me.   
“Gerard, snap out of it!” he cries, already sobbing.   
“I’m okay, I’m alright, Frankie,” I assure. I turn off the water, and Frank steps into the shower, hugging my soaking wet body tightly.   
“Gerard…” he weeps. He looks at me and takes my head in his shaking hands, kissing me on the forehead with quivering lips. He presses my head against his chest and strokes my hair, kissing me on the top of the head as he promises,  
“It’ll be alright. We’ll take you to Billie. Everything’s fine.”  
A MONTH LATER  
Someone knocks on the door, surely my doctor or nurse.   
“Come in,” I call.  
Frank opens the door. I squeal in excitement, even though I’m too weak to leave my hospital bed. Back at 93 pounds, I lay, exhausted, but extremely happy that I can be excited about Frank being here.  
“Hey, Gee,” Frank greets. He sits next to me, taking one of my hands and kissing it. He’s carrying a box, and I notice this immediately.  
“Hi Frank,” I respond. I motion towards the box. “What’s in there?”  
Frank smiles and opens it, revealing a large chocolate cake. “Do you know what day it is?”  
I furrow my brow, trying to think. Yesterday was October 30…  
“It’s your birthday!” I blurt, hugging Frank. “I’m so sorry I forgot, it’s just that I lose track of time here so easily...”  
Frank kisses me, silencing me immediately. “Don’t worry about it.” He swoops his finger into the icing, sticking his frosting coated finger into his mouth and moaning with pleasure. He pushes the cake towards me, encouraging me to dig in.  
I stare at the cake and begin to sweat with anxiety. Should I eat it? I don’t want to get fat… but… but… I look up at Frank. And right then and there, I realize that the only thing that matters is that I’m with him. So I smile as I take a fistful of cake out of one of the corners, popping it into my mouth.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and check out my other fics!
> 
> If you want to send fanart, read a fic for me, or just talk, contact me at: www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com/ask (You DON'T need an account!)
> 
> I had so much fun writing this story. A sequel is being considered, or perhaps a prequel. We'll just have to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! New chapter should be up in a few days! Please comment; I love reading them!!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr- www.these-wounds-will-scar-me.tumblr.com


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